


feel the boom, feel the bang (from head to toe)

by riots



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Post-Game(s), Requited Unrequited Love, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Witcher Contracts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 07:14:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24467029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riots/pseuds/riots
Summary: Eskel scoffs, shoving his shoulder. “You’re just the same,” he sighs. He shakes his head. “You got a room for the night?”“What, you’re telling me you can’t afford a room of your own?” Geralt raises an eyebrow.“You don’t keep a full purse without pinching a few pennies. Not all of us have a bard singing our praises from town to town. Plus, innkeeper told me the place is sold out. ” Eskel tips his chin, a smile growing on his lips. “You telling me you’re too good to share a bed like old times?”“Think we’re a bit big for that,” Geralt says.Eskel shrugs a shoulder. “Think we can figure it out,” he says easily. Like it’s nothing.Geralt wishes it were nothing.a rudderless geralt runs into eskel in oxenfurt, and they decide to take down a katakan together. it doesn't quite go according to plan, or maybe it does.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 56
Kudos: 380
Collections: Fandom 5K 2020, I made fanart for these at some point :)





	feel the boom, feel the bang (from head to toe)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toucanpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toucanpie/gifts).



> shout out to the mf squad for cheerleading 💕

“Well, look who it is.” Geralt’s deep enough in his cups that he hadn’t heard the slow, steady beat of Eskel’s heart, or picked up his familiar smell. It’s why he’s surprised by Eskel’s hand on his shoulder and his easy smile. “Good to see you, Wolf.”

“Been a while,” Geralt says, and he’s not expecting the hug that Eskel reels him into, tight and intimate. It’s the White Gull he’s been sneaking with his whiskey that makes him lean into it, hand gripped tight in the back of Eskel’s jacket. It's unsettling how quickly Eskel’s scent gets under his skin, makes him relax in a way that the alcohol hasn’t.

“No shit,” Eskel says. He pulls out the empty stool next to Geralt, and gestures for the barkeep to bring him a drink. “And whose fault is that? Missed you in the Chameleon at Midinváerne. If you hadn’t written to Dandelion I bet you’d have a search party after you by now.” 

There’s a note of reproach in Eskel’s voice, though he doesn’t look at Geralt, instead focusing on sliding some coin over to pay for his drink. And it’s not as though Geralt doesn’t deserve it. He probably should have gone. It’s tradition, now that Vesemir is gone and Kaer Morhen stands empty. He’s gone home to see the other wolves every year since he left for the Path. He should’ve gone.

It’s just - Geralt’s felt a little unmoored, since they’d dealt with the Wild Hunt. Ciri is safe, safe to choose her Path and live how she wants. The tie that held him to Yennefer is broken, and while he’ll always love her, it’s certainly not the compulsion that it was. And so, there’s just Geralt, and the Path, and a vineyard he’s not even sure what to do with. “Well, I’m here. Still kicking.”

“Good,” Eskel says. He looks sidelong at Geralt, and raises his flagon to his lips. “I’d be pissed if you went and got yourself killed without even saying goodbye.”

To be a Witcher is to have a casual relationship with death: both causing it, and the thought of your own. Geralt’s always figured that one day he’d miss a swing and end up a body in the woods, picked over by the beasts and unmourned. He’s pretty used to that idea. But the sharpness in Eskel’s eyes gives him pause. “Noted,” Geralt says, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “So. What brings you to Redania?” 

Eskel settles into his stool, big hand wrapped around his flagon of ale. “Got wind of a katakan, thought I’d come have a look.” It’s approaching autumn, and it looks like the year has been good to him. Eskel looks well-fed, his armour well-maintained. Dandelion’s songs were about Geralt, but that doesn’t mean that the rest of the Witchers haven’t seen a boost in their profile in the past decade too. Sometimes, Geralt thinks that it should’ve been Eskel at the centre of all those ballads. He’s always been kinder, more even tempered. He’s the honourable one. “You?”

“Same,” Geralt admits. Monster contracts, the real ones, the challenging ones, are getting fewer and further between. There aren’t many monsters left on the Continent, it seems, and most of the ones that are still around just want to be left alone. Geralt knows the feeling. But, a lesser vampire, especially one that’s canny enough to operate out of the sewers in a heavily populated city? That’s an interesting contract. 

Eskel tips his head, smiling a little. “You gonna ask, or are you gonna make me?” he says, and he raises an eyebrow. “You gonna hunt with me, Wolf?”

Geralt looks at Eskel and he feels the same clench in his gut he’s felt every time he sees Eskel. Since he was a stripling, younger than all the rest of the boys, he and Eskel gravitated towards each other. Doesn’t matter how long it’s been since he’s seen him, it always makes him feel a little bit like coming home. If he thinks about it, and he doesn’t, he’d say he’s a little in love with him. Maybe a lot. But other than some teenage fumbling in the dark, before they’d headed out on the Path, he’s never spoken of any of this to Eskel. He’s lived too long and lost too many friends to justify the risk of losing the one person who has known him for ever, who truly knows him inside and out. 

So he swallows it down, battens it down behind his ribs, and silences it. “If you insist,” he says easily, still feeling loose with the White Gull. 

Eskel scoffs, shoving his shoulder. Geralt’s just drunk enough that it makes him wobble and laugh. “You’re just the same,” Eskel sighs. He shakes his head. “You got a room for the night?”

Geralt just takes another long sip of his ale. He’s probably had enough of the good stuff for one night. “What, you’re telling me you can’t afford a room of your own?” He raises an eyebrow.

“You don’t keep a full purse without pinching a few pennies. Not all of us have a bard singing our praises from town to town. Plus, innkeeper told me the place is sold out. ” Eskel cocks his head. “You telling me you’re too good to share a bed like old times?”

“Think we’re a bit big for that,” Geralt snorts.

Eskel shrugs a shoulder. “Think we can figure it out,” he says easily. Like it’s nothing. 

Geralt wishes it were nothing. “Alright, alright,” he says. “So c’mon. Tell me about the Path. You’ve gotta have some good stories to share.” New stories, new scars. Some things never change for a Witcher. 

“Sure,” Eskel says. He smirks, his lips twisted a little by the scars on his lip. “Better than yours, probably.” He might actually be right, this time. Since they beat the Wild Hunt, seems like Destiny has finally decided to leave Geralt alone. He can’t say he’s not adrift, but he’s also grateful. He’s ready to be uninteresting again. 

“Remains to be seen,” Geralt scoffs, and Eskel pushes him again, shaking his head.

They drink enough to get soft around the edges, and the tavern is mostly empty by the time they make it up the stairs to Geralt’s room. Eskel’s got one heavy arm slung around Geralt’s shoulders, and Geralt’s is around his waist, and between the two of them, they manage to stay upright for long enough to make it into bed. 

Eskel drops face down onto the mattress and Geralt pulls at his own armour, laughing. “Been a while since I had a bed,” Eskel admits, his voice muffled by the worn pillow. He makes no move to take his kit off, just starfishes on the mattress and makes a happy noise.

“I can tell,” Geralt says dryly. His fingers are clumsy, but he manages to get down to his shirt and pants. He lays his armour neatly on the one chair in the room, and then he shoves Eskel over to make space for himself. “C’mon.” The bed isn’t small, but it’s not built for two fully-grown Witchers, either. “I’m not sleeping with a face-full of metal. Look after your armour.”

Eskel scoffs, but he pushes himself into a sitting position and starts pulling at his jacket. “Someone’s bossy,” he says. He peels off his jacket and boots, throwing them haphazardly on the floor and then looking slyly at Geralt. Geralt rolls his eyes. 

“You’re in a mood,” Geralt notes. “Worse than Lambert.” He settles back against the pillow, and does his best not to follow the movement of Eskel’s hands as he strips down. 

Eskel draws his shirt over his head, leaving his broad chest bare, and Geralt hopes he doesn’t hear his heart rate speed up. “I feel like I should be offended,” Eskel says, and then he throws himself back down on the bed. He smells like liquor and relaxation. “Nobody’s worse than Lambert.”

“Hmm,” Geralt says, unconvinced. As kids, sharing a bed was normal, but it’s been a long, long time since then. Eskel doesn’t have the same hesitance. 

“Will you relax?” Eskel sighs, digging his knuckles into Geralt’s ribs. “Gotta get some sleep if we’re going to go after a katakan tomorrow.” He’s got his face pressed into the pillow and he squints up at Geralt with one eye, sharp even with the alcohol in his system. “What’s your problem?”

Same one he’s had for decades, now. “Nothing,” Geralt mutters. He lets Eskel reel him down and he ends up with his back pressed against Eskel’s scarred chest. It’s the only way they can really both fit comfortably on the bed, and they used to sleep like this, back when they were kids. Eskel’s one of the few people Geralt’s shared a bed with who’s actually bigger than he is. Geralt’s strong but lean, especially compared to Eskel’s densely muscled body. He’s one of the rare few who makes him feel - well, small. 

“Then sleep, Wolf.” Geralt can feel the warmth of Eskel’s breath against the back of his neck as he speaks. 

It should take longer for Geralt to relax, but the White Gull and Eskel’s heartbeat are lulling him to sleep. He feels like he’s sixteen again, the two of them new to their bodies after the trials, still holding on to each other, an anchor in their changing world. No matter what happens, Eskel always smells like safety to him. And that’s why sleep comes on quickly, Eskel’s arm heavy over his waist.

-

When he awakens, the late morning sunlight is slanting through the one narrow window, and Geralt is warm. It’s probably got something to do with how they’ve shifted in their sleep. Now, Eskel is folded half over him, face pressed to the line of Geralt’s throat, one big thigh tucked between Geralt’s. Geralt stiffens, his heart doing a complicated maneuver in his chest. This is the sort of scenario that makes him ache with wanting, but waking up to Eskel isn’t something he can get used to. He can’t take advantage.

The moment he reacts, Eskel wakes. He can feel him shift, his eyes sliding open as he twists to look up at Geralt. Old Witcher habit: to go from sleep to wakefulness in an instant, a skill handy for any of them alone on the Path. “You okay?” Eskel asks, voice bleary with disuse. He pushes up slowly, and Geralt doesn’t think too hard about how he regrets that. 

“Fine,” Geralt says gruffly. He pulls away, sitting up and putting his feet flat against the warped floorboards. 

Eskel sees right through him, as he always did. “No, there’s something up with you.” Geralt listens to him shift and curse under his breath as his headache awakens. Eskel always was a lightweight. “And I’m gonna figure it out.”

“Sure,” Geralt says. When he turns again, Eskel’s eyes are narrowed, thoughtful. “Stop it.”

“Alright, alright,” Eskel holds up a hand in placation. He bends to gather his rumpled clothing. “You know you won’t hold out forever.” 

Something about that makes Geralt snort. Normally, Eskel would be right. It was Eskel who listened in the winters, when the winds howled outside and Geralt was still grappling with the storm of emotions Yennefer set off in him. Eskel was the one to field Geralt’s first tentative admission that he _loved_ Ciri, that he had no idea what to do with a daughter but he loved her, fiercely and unconditionally.

But Geralt’s held this particular truth of his close to his chest for decades now. He’s got a good track record with it. “Sure,” he says again. “Whatever you say.”

It just makes Eskel set his jaw, pausing a moment as he buckles on his jacket. “You won’t,” he says. “We don’t have secrets.”

Geralt wonders when that changed. He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns to his own armour, getting ready and packing up the rest of his kit. “You got Black Blood?” They haven’t investigated the contract themselves, and there’s always a pretty high chance the townspeople have gotten it wrong. Still, doesn’t hurt to be prepared.

“Mhmm. Got vamp oil?” 

Geralt double checks his satchel. “Got it.” Oxenfurt is a sizable city, and with the university, they’ve actually got some decent herbalists running shops, but it’s good to have what they need already at hand. Takes hours to brew a decent batch of Black Blood, and it’s vital for a fight with a katakan.

They both travel light. Geralt thinks idly of traveling with Dandelion, how long it took him to wake up in the mornings, and here he and Eskel are, hungover and ready to go in five minutes flat. He’s missed traveling with someone else, but especially someone who can keep pace with him. It’s been a long time. “Let’s go get a katakan,” Eskel says, pulling his swords over his shoulders.

“After you,” Geralt says, and the two of them leave the room. Geralt watches the broad shift of Eskel’s shoulders and thinks, just for a moment, about what could be.

-

After speaking to a man in the guard, they’re lead to a lesser populated area on the opposite side of the city from the University. There’s been a series of deaths in the dock workers, and it doesn’t take long for the two of them to find yet another. “Blood,” Eskel calls, from where he’s crouched behind a stack of boxes, but Geralt’s already smelled it. “Fresh, too. Last night?”

“Likely,” Geralt agrees. He stands next to Eskel, turning his head to scent the area and look for more signs. There are deep footprints leading away from the initial splash of blood, and a trail of droplets leading away from the warehouse. His fingers come to rest against Eskel’s shoulder pauldron. “Looks like it used the alley to drag away its prey.”

He’s still focused on trying to catch the scent of the blood, and that’s the reason he gives himself for why he doesn’t notice the weight of Eskel’s body against his leg. He’s leaning into him. Geralt swallows and looks down at Eskel, but his face is unreadable and he pulls away again. Geralt doesn’t feel the loss keenly, he doesn’t. “So I guess we follow it.”

The trail is long and meandering through the narrow back streets, and they’ve wasted precious daylight hours by sleeping in this morning. By the time they’re lead to the small mouth to the sewers, the sun is beginning to set. “Why does it always have to be the sewers?” Geralt mutters as Eskel muscles the manhole cover out of place.

“Going soft?” Eskel laughs. The cover clatters against the paving stones and he straightens. “I’ve seen worse.”

Geralt shoots him a look. “So have I,” he says, but Eskel just smirks, pleased to have gotten a rise out of him. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Eskel slides his feet into the manhole, shaking his head. “Nobody _likes_ the sewers,” he says. “Except maybe drowners.” 

The ladder down into the dark creaks under his weight. Old, rusted. Geralt frowns. “Careful,” he says. The last thing they need to do is miss a rung and go face first into a sewer.

“You sound like a mother hen.” Eskel’s head disappears down into the dark, and Geralt prepares to follow after him. 

He waits until he hears Eskel’s feet hit the ground before he starts down the ladder. He wasn’t wrong. The metal is rusted under his gloves, old and worn. They’ll be lucky to get back up without incident. He grimaces. Why does he always end up in the sewers?

He’s halfway down when he feels a shift in the air and Eskel grunts. “Shit,” Eskel mutters, and Geralt hears the sound of a sword being unsheathed, followed by a low growl. Seems the guardsman was right about that, at least. Eskel needs help. Geralt picks up the pace, but when he hears the dull sound of claws on leather and Eskel cursing, his foot slips. 

With a resounding creak of metal, the rung beneath his feet gives way, and Geralt goes tumbling into the sewer. It’s pitch black, and even his mutations aren’t helping much as the air rushes past him. He lands poorly, too distracted by the sound of Eskel scuffling with the vampire, and something snaps in his calf, setting off a blaze of agony all the way up his leg to his hip. He shouts in pain.

“Geralt!” Eskel yells from across the room. Geralt still can’t see much from the dim light thrown from the setting sun above them, and he’s only got a vague idea of what’s happening from the sounds of Eskel’s sword slicing through the air. He reaches for his own blade, gritting his teeth against the near blinding pain that shoots up his leg each time he shifts his weight. 

“Broken leg,” Geralt gasps out finally, and he knows it’s Eskel who finds him first from his scent, and from the big hand he winds into the front of Geralt’s jacket, hauling him to his feet. The movement unavoidably jostles his leg and he groans through his teeth, gripping Eskel as he waits for it to pass. 

When he’s steadied himself, his ears near ringing from the agony, he realizes that Eskel’s managed to use the hand he’s holding Geralt up with to throw Quen, and the golden shield around them ripples as the katakan hurls itself at it. “Show off,” Geralt grunts. 

Eskel isn’t looking at him. He’s scanning the room they’re in, looking for an escape. “Some of us spent our time on skills, not sleeping with sorceresses.” Geralt clutches at Eskel’s waist, using the strength of his shoulders to keep himself upright, and moves his fingers through the sign for Aard. The katakan is thrown backwards, roaring its displeasure. “ _Now_.”

They take their opening. Geralt half-hobbles, is half-hauled further down into the sewer, their boots splashing in the fetid water. It stinks, and Geralt is in agony, but he clings to consciousness. He’s no good to Eskel if he’s out cold. 

“There,” Eskel says. Behind them, the noise of the katakan is increasing. It’s recovered. “C’mon. Just a little further.” Eskel casts Aard, and Geralt can hear the crackle of ice as he freezes the katakan cold. He always did have a better head for the signs than Geralt did. “Get the door.”

It’s all the warning that Geralt gets before he’s pitched forward into a heavy wooden door as Eskel whirls to face the katakan. He’s gotta shake his head a few times, leaning heavily on his good foot as he fumbles with the door knob. Can’t use blunt force, or it won’t serve as a barricade between them and the beast, and they’re in its lair. He sucks in a shuddering breath, blinks to clear his head, and focuses on picking the lock.

Feels like it takes forever. Feels like his leg is on fire, too. By the time he’s managed to get the old doorknob to turn, Geralt’s hands are shaking and his vision is starting to blur. “Got it!” he shouts, and Eskel is on him in a second, another Quen shield standing between them and the beast as they tumble through the door. Eskel slams the door shut behind them, throwing the lock before he finally stills, his chest heaving with the effort. 

“You’re bleeding,” Geralt says from the floor. He’s managed to straighten his leg enough that the pain isn’t blinding anymore. Small miracles.

Eskel blinks at him, pawing distractedly at the blood streaking down his forehead. “And?” he says. He drops to his knees next to Geralt, big hands gentle as he examines his leg. “Pretty sure I’ll live.” Geralt grunts as Eskel loosens his boot and pulls it off. “Melitele’s sweet tits, Geralt, your pants tight enough for you? I’m gonna have to cut them off.”

“They’re comfortable,” Geralt mutters, and Eskel snorts, pulling out a knife.

“Sure. And how nice your arse looks in them has nothing to do with it.” Geralt looks at him, and Eskel glances up, holds his gaze for one long, undecipherable moment, and then looks away. Geralt’s grateful he’s got a broken leg to blame for his heartbeat, because it’s going wild right about now.

“Looks clean. Didn’t break the skin.” Eskel’s brown hands are warm on Geralt’s pale calf. “Should heal with rest.”

Geralt leans back on his elbows and sighs. “You should head back,” he says. “Find a way out. I’ll stay here and meditate until daylight, when the katakan’s less active.”

Eskel gives him a look like he’s lost his mind. “No,” he says. “Think I’ll stay right here.” He shifts around so he’s behind Geralt, and then puts his hands on Geralt’s shoulders. “Alright?” he asks.

Geralt wonders what the right answer is. Let Eskel touch him, even if it makes his chest ache? Or push him away, and stop pretending it’s all okay? There’s something strange in the air between them, and he can’t read it, not yet. In the end, though, he’s still weak. “Yeah,” he says. “Fine.”

At his okay, Eskel pulls off his scabbards and maneuvers them so that Geralt’s in Eskel’s lap, back pressed against his chest. It’s a sight more comfortable than the stone sewer floor. He doesn’t even know where they are - some sort of storage room, he guesses, if the handful of old boxes are anything to go by. “I hate sewers,” Geralt sighs, and when Eskel laughs, Geralt feels it in his spine. 

“Rest,” Eskel says, and he hooks one arm across Geralt’s chest, anchoring him back against him. “I’m right here.”

And he is, and that’s half the problem. Still, with his heartbeat drumming slow and even against Geralt’s back, Geralt relaxes all over again. He can take a second, now. He takes a deep breath, slows his heart, and slips into a meditative state. He knows Eskel is watching over him.

-

Geralt’s shaken awake by another shriek and a flurry of blows against the old door standing between them and the katakan, but the ancient wood holds. “Told you,” Geralt says, shifting with a grunt. The movement jostles his broken leg, sends pain firing all the way up his hip and he grits his teeth. “Should’ve left me. Headed back up.”

Eskel steadies him with a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says, voice dry. “Should’ve left you with a busted leg to face a katakan on your own.” 

Outside the room, with a final scream, they can hear the katakan stalk away. They’ve been listening to the creature make the rounds since they took shelter. Even if that katakan had been old and canny, the two of them shouldn’t have had any real trouble with it. Of course, soon as you say that, you invite the trouble. 

The break is bad, but it’s clean. The pain is already easing, and a couple more hours of meditation oughta bring him up to speed, get them out of here. If they can wait out the katakan, even better. Geralt’s gotta admit, he’s glad that Eskel stayed. He could probably have held out on his own, but it’s a lot easier to relax and deal with the pain when he’s listening to the slow, even beat of Eskel’s heart next to him.

“You can’t figure that an hour out will have you walking again," Eskel says. His hand still rests on Geralt’s shoulder, warm, steady. “The sooner you rest, the sooner you’re in one piece.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Geralt says, but he doesn’t dislodge Eskel’s hand. It’s hard to admit the truth - he’s distracted, and it’s making relaxing into a meditative state kind of hard. 

Eskel hums, disapproving. “If you’re not gonna knock out, how about you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Like a dog with a bone,” Geralt mutters. He doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to do it on a good day, but even less when he’s sitting in a stinking sewer with a busted leg. Maybe he’s a coward, but he doesn’t want to give up the easy comfort he feels when he’s around Eskel. He doesn’t want to give up their history and friendship. But he knows Eskel. Now that he’s sniffed it out, he won’t drop it until he knows the truth. And Geralt’s always been a terrible liar.

“Wolves,” Eskel says. Geralt twists a little to look up at him, raising an eyebrow. “We’re - ah, never mind.”

Geralt focuses on the sound of Eskel’s heartbeat, slow and even. “You ever wonder what we’ll do, when the monsters are gone?” That’s all he has left, now. It’s how he started, and now he’s not sure how he kept going, before Destiny had her way with him.

“Hmm.” Eskel shifts under Geralt’s weight, his hand still warm and flat across Geralt’s chest. “Will they ever be gone? I’ll probably be hunting drowners until I die.”

“C’mon,” Geralt says, prickly with irritation.

“Okay, okay.” Eskel exhales, breath shifting past Geralt’s ear. “I don’t know. Guess I’d settle down, maybe? Always wanted to study. Maybe literature, maybe history.”

“Yeah?” Geralt asks. He’s not sure exactly why he’s surprised. Vesemir always loved his books, but Eskel was the one who read for fun, kept a few books beside his bed or on the table when he was eating breakfast. “Think Dandelion can get you in at Oxenfurt?”

“Hey, you asked.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Geralt says, knocking his knuckles against the hand Eskel has against his chest. “I bet he could, if you wanted.”

Eskel snorts. “Think I’m a little old to be going back to school.” He shifts again. “So. Why are you asking? What are you thinking about?”

It takes him a moment to figure out exactly how to say it. “I have a vineyard now,” Geralt says, a bit helplessly. “Never thought I’d have a house. Got no idea what to do with it.”

“Relax?” Eskel suggests. “Drink some wine. Isn’t that what you do in Toussaint?” 

Geralt huffs out a laugh. He doesn’t even know what you do in Toussaint. The times he was in Toussaint he spent in bed with a sorceress or hunting vampires. The same things he’s done anywhere else. “I don’t even know how to decorate,” he admits. “Got my majordomo to clean the place up.” 

“‘Majordomo’,” Eskel chuckles.

Geralt rolls his weight to his hip, trying to stretch out some of the stiffness in his legs. It’s not enough time for the break to be knit back together, but lying still like this is getting harder to take, without sliding into meditation. But he still just...can’t, not yet. He listens to Eskel’s breath in his lungs, warm against his skin, and he thinks about how he could be lying flat on the ground, but Eskel had to pull him into his lap, instead. There are some things they did as kids, but this seems a step over that line. Since he woke up, pressed against Eskel’s body, he’s wondering if something is different. If it’s not just him doing the wanting. He thinks about the risk, about what he could lose, but gods, he just _wants_ him. And that's why he speaks.

“Could put in a library,” Geralt says, after a moment.

Eskel goes entirely still. Geralt swallows hard, and he waits. “Would you want that?” he says slowly. 

“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” After a moment, he curls his hand around the wrist Eskel has over his chest.

“Shit,” Eskel says after a second. He rests his face against the top of Geralt’s head. “Yeah, I’d like that too.” His voice trembles, just a little, and Geralt realizes that maybe this is important to him too. 

Geralt grips Eskel’s wrist, and his heart races. Most gratifying, most thrilling, is that Eskel’s heart is racing with his. “I thought - ” Geralt shakes his head. “I don’t know. I thought it was just me.”

Eskel’s laugh is incredulous. “I thought _you_ knew,” Eskel says. “Been thinking about you for _years_. I thought you were just too polite to mention it.”

“Shit,” Geralt says. The tension melts out of his body and he rubs his thumb against the inside of Eskel’s arm. “All that wasted time.”

“Maybe,” Eskel says. “But maybe now, you’ve got a vineyard, and I’ve got some books. Maybe that’s enough.” Geralt could swear he feels Eskel press his lips to the top of his head. “Get your majordomo to order some shelves, clean the place right up.”

“ _I_ didn’t hire him,” Geralt protests, and he can hear the grin in Eskel’s voice when he laughs. 

“Sure,” he says. “Sure.” He brings his other hand around to rest across Geralt’s chest. “But it can wait. First, deal with that leg.”

Geralt’s eyes slide closed, and he listens to the slow thud of Eskel’s pulse. “Alright,” he says. “If you insist.” Now, he can. He felt safe in Eskel’s arms before, but now he’s looking forward in a way he hasn’t done in a long time, and it makes it easier. “See you in a few.” With Eskel’s palm over his heart, Geralt slips from consciousness.

-

Geralt’s internal clock pulls him up into wakefulness again, and it only takes a moment to realize that most of the night is gone and his leg feels a lot better. “It’s morning,” Eskel says. “Or nearabouts. Haven’t heard the katakan in an hour or so.” He grunts when Geralt pulls away, flexing his leg and feeling out the break. It’s tender, certainly, and he wouldn’t be able to take the monster on his own, but he can probably stand again.

“You alright?” Geralt asks. His leg is swollen but his boot still slides on.

Eskel rolls his shoulders and makes a face. “Yeah, just stiff.” A smile plays on his scarred lips. “Cause I was being a pillow for _someone_ who wanted to sleep all night.” The cut on his forehead must’ve been shallow - it’s long healed, the only remnant of it the dried blood caked to his skin. He scratches at it restlessly. “How’s the leg, Princess?”

Geralt pushes slowly to his feet and tests his weight. He’ll need to take a break after this job, but it holds. “Good,” he says. He stoops to collect his swords, then offers his hand to Eskel. “Think we can take it now?”

“No problem,” Eskel says. He lets Geralt tug him up, and when he stands, it’s a hairsbreadth too close. Geralt’s finding out that he likes that, likes it a lot. “You gonna be able to keep up?”

Geralt lets Eskel go just so he can knock his hand against his shoulder. “I’ll be the one to take it down,” he says.

Down the hall, in response to their increased movement, the katakan lets out a subdued howl. As one, they unsheath their swords and move their hands through the sign for Quen. Eskel puts his hand on the door. “Ready?” he asks. 

Geralt grabs the front of his jerkin, tugs him forward and kisses him, rough and messy. When he finally pulls away, Eskel looks astonished, breathless. “Now, I am,” Geralt says decisively. “You need to brush your teeth.”

Eskel shakes his head, laughing and pushing Geralt away. “Speak for yourself,” he says, and he opens the door.

**Author's Note:**

> COOL AND FUN THINGS: annablume did some art for this and you can find it [here](https://twitter.com/annablumedraws/status/1329950721144451072?s=20)!!


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